A. L. Kaplan

Category: Short Story

  • SENTRY

    Sentry Devil’s tongue hung down, heat from the midday sun scorched the lookout rock. In the canyon below a small band of humans struggled through the twists and turns, heading straight for the Black Canyon pack’s den. The scent of dry death hung in the air. How could they not smell the spring only a few hundred yards away? Despite obvious need, the humans stumbled away from the only source of water for miles.

    Humans were food to the Black Canyon leader, but Devil remembered his old human pack. Food had been plentiful, members full of love and kindness. They were gone, killed by the sky fire.

    One of the human pups stumbled, then curled on the ground, whimpering. She was so like his little human. Devil reach the bottom of the canyon before he realized he had left his sentry post. The pack leader wouldn’t be happy.

    Devil approached the humans cautiously, circling around until he stood between them and the spring. The scent of fear was strong, but they didn’t attack. One of the men moved toward him. Devil sprung back, toward the spring, then waited. Bit by bit he drew them closer to the spring, then sat several yards away as they drank their fill. He liked this pack. They felt right and the dried meat they tossed him was good.

    Devil spun around as the Black Canyon leader approached. It was time to oust the real devil and return the Black Canyon pack to humans.

  • The Golden Castle

    “Get in there, English scum,” said the guard as he shoved John into the tiny stone cell of El Castillo de Oro, or as the inmates called it, The Place of Bones. “I don’t care how many prisons you’ve escaped from, you’re not leaving here until you’re rotted bones.”

    John held out his hands. “My good man, you seem to have forgotten to remove my shackles.”

    “You want them off so bad, start chewing.” The guard slammed the door shut and left.

    Unfazed, John smiled at the man across the hall. “Greetings. To whom have I the pleasure of addressing?”

    “Only the gentleman pirate, John Deane, talks like that. Paul’s me name. You done gotten in too deep this time, Mr. Deane. There’s no escapin’ this place.”

    “Don’t be so sure, Paul.”

    John knew the history of this prison and the English translation. There was far more to the Golden Castle’s name than the stones, which shimmered gold in the setting sun. He extracted a pencil sized cylinder from its hiding place and gave it a few twists. Off popped the shackles, then the door lock clicked open. Casually, he stepped into the hallway and walked deeper into the prison. At each cell he released prisoners by pointing the cylinder.

    “You’re going the wrong way,” said Paul.

    “You can continue to the traditional exit and die,” said John. “Or you may come with me and walk away with as much Spanish gold as you can carry.”

    Paul glanced at the prisoners who ran for the exit, then back at John. “Gold?”

    John knew the lure of gold would do its trick. He smiled as Paul and a few others followed him into the bowels of El Castillo de Oro. Escaping the prison and finding the gold was easy. Convincing his new crew to go through the portal would be the challenge.

  • Death For Sale

    “I’m telling you, Eric, You don’t want this car. It’s jinxed. Every one of its thirteen owners’ was murdered. I looked it up.”

    “Nonsense, Carl. She’s just a classic with an interesting history. Check her out. Hot and sexy. It’s like we were made for each other.”

    ***

    Beth watched Eric hand the cash to the seller. Anticipation rippled from fender to fender. Oh how she detested his type. She’d make sure he got his comeuppance, just like the others. Already the plan was in motion.

    Long ago she learned of her fiancé’s other wives and confronted him. He didn’t like that much. But crushing her body with the hood of that 1954 blue Pontiac before it even left the factory, didn’t get rid of her. Not even a shallow grave in the woods or a thorough car wash did the trick. Somehow she’d stayed curled around that engine. Her revenge came by way of the mail to all five women. They took care of him.

    As for her, she had a knack for enchanting betrayers. The first to fall was that two timing reporter, Bill Keenan. Funny how his wife learned about his affair.  Beth’s burning hate for infidelity always helped spot the next target. Sometimes the wife did the deed and sometimes the other woman. Didn’t matter to her as long as it was done.

    Her engine began to purr as Eric slid behind the wheel. It was only a matter of time now.

  • Rainy Day

    Rainy DayWet and dreary, that was Benny’s existence even before the car struck his umbrella stand last December. One flash of pain, then he was back standing in oblivion, invisible. People rushed by. Cold rain on his back made him shiver, a memory of his last living days.

    How could anyone be more miserable? Just then he spied a rain drenched puppy shuffle across the sidewalk. Tangled strands of yellow fur lay plastered across its ribcage. Eyes, void of hope, gazed down. He held an umbrella over the dog, following as it wandered into the street, but rain continued to flow through the ghost umbrella. If only he could do more.

    Benny saw the car barrel down the road. Wheels slid across the slick pavement just like last year, only this time the pup lay in its deadly path. He didn’t think about how an insubstantial body could help as he tossed the dog to safety. He just did it.

    “The choice is yours, Benny.”

    Choice? Benny blinked with understanding. He could continue his empty existence or live one short, cold, hungry life. Loneliness was worse. His arms wrapped around the dog and he felt their spirits meld. Cold seeped into his body. Hunger drove sharp pangs in his gut. Yet he felt strangely warm for the first time.

    “How would like to come home with me, little fellow?” A young man wrapped a scarf around his new body and held him close. “I think I’ll call you…Benny.”

  • Tough Stuff

    “I won’t tell nobody,” said Tabs. “I swear, Oscar, your secret’s safe with me.”

    Oscar’s tail swished back and forth, the gray fur bristled out. Then he dug his claws into the tabby and grinned, watching Tabs’ eyes grow wide. “I know you won’t talk, Tabs. You did enough of that last night with your cluck, cluck jokes.”

    “I didn’t….”

    One sharp bite cut him off…for good.

    Leaving Tab’s body in the ally, Oscar purred, thinking about his youth. He hadn’t always been a cold hearted killer. At one time he’d been some kid’s prize-winning pampered pet. More importantly, he’d never felt right in his old skin. His heart wanted to roam the land, to hunt and kill. He couldn’t do that in a cage.

    First opportunity Oscar got he slipped his prison and found a surgeon who could make is dreams come true. It took two years to complete the change and another to work his way into the organization. Now he ruled the neighborhood. The last payment to the doctor was sent eight years ago.

    Tabs had been an old friend from the farm, the only one who knew his past. Some friendships get old, worn out. Last night’s joke in front of the guys was the last straw for Tabs. Now he was gone. No one else knew how Oscar really started life. Even the doctor had experience a small ‘accident’ recently. No one would ever know Oscar had been born a chicken.

  • Winter’s Night

    “Go ahead. I know you’ve hungered after my flesh your whole life.”

    The old wolf sat only inches from Buffalo’s throat, but only licked the festering wound on her hip. With one golden eye and the other silvery blue, she studied his face. A jagged white stripe decorated his brow.

    “You’re old and stringy now, too tough for my teeth. A calf would be easier to chew.”

    Buffalo stifled a laugh. “There’ll be none until spring. You’ll have to make do with me. I’m too tired to fight anymore, easy game. One of us at least should live.”

    “Well it won’t be me. I no longer have the strength to bite your shaggy hide. Even my pack has left me for dead.”

    “Perhaps Bear will put us both out of our misery.”

    “Bear sleeps. Even Crow hides from this blustery snow, warm in his roost.”

    “Then let me die in peace.”

    “Humph. Peace. You think I don’t wish for such a thing. I’m cold and tired. Death claws both our hides.”

    “Rest with me. Perhaps some good will come of this end.”

    Wolf curled up against Buffalo and closed her eyes. Content, their spirits leaped for the sky together. Snow soon hid their bodies.

    ***

    “What odd looking hatchlings we have this spring,” said Mother Hawk.

    Father Hawk studied the two chicks. One had a strange white stripe across his face; the other had one silvery blue eye. They snuggled against each other as if winter clawed at them.

  • THE DIG

    Lush green covered the banks of the river. It would have been beautiful were not for the scull in my hand. Finding bones on an archaeological dig wasn’t unusual, but his one was different. Caucasian, male, one gold tooth, just like Brendan Harper, one of the students who disappeared three years ago.

    The university didn’t seem to notice how many students dropped Professor Hamilton’s classes or simply vanished over the years. And I mean years, as in decades. My boss red flagged the case and I’d spent two years undercover waiting for him to slip up.

    “Are you ready to join your classmates, Miss Van?”

    Icy fingers touched my shoulder and the scull crashed to the ground. It felt as though the temperature dropped fifty degrees. I could feel a tug on my soul, feel my life force drain away even through the protections. Panic closed in. If I didn’t act soon I’d be nothing but a withered corpse for some future victim to find.

    A twist of my wrist slipped the magic dagger into my hand as I spun around. I plunged the weapon deep into the lich’s emaciated chest. His red glowing eyes widened in their dark sockets. Bony hands clenched my neck even as his body disintegrated.

    “You can’t destroy me,” he hissed. “I’ll be back within a week. Your soul will be mine.”

    “Not this time, Lich. I destroyed your phylactery this morning. Oh, and my name isn’t Miss Van. It’s Miss Van Helsing.

  • Wish Pond

    Magic is finicky. I’d seen it work before, but not too reliably and there were many charlatans around. But I trusted Damien, loved him. Still, this was one of his wackier ideas, crazier than their hasty marriage three weeks ago.

    “You want to jump into that scuzzy water, be my guest. There’s no way I am.”

    A frown creased his brow. “We’ve been over this. If you don’t jump in after tossing the coin the magic won’t work. I can’t swim.”

    He massaged his head, revealing dark green marks on his arm.

    “What’s that green smudge?”

    Damien snapped his sleeve down, covering the splotches. He seemed unusually irritated. “Nothing, just some paint.”

    I shrugged. He was the magic expert. With a flick I tossed the copper coin in the air. It arced high, then dove strait for the wish pond. Instead of a splash, I heard thump.

    Curious, I leaned over to look, but a flicker of movement made me turn. Arms extended, Damien charged, the green ‘paint’ on his arms clearly textured like alligator skin. Yellow reptilian eyes shone with soulless intensity.

    My heart shattered with understanding. Damien was a Gator Shaman, bound to the creatures by blood… and I was his next sacrifice. No wonder he knew so much magic. But he didn’t count on my reflexes. Damien tumbled into the water. He cried once before the alligator bit.

    I guess he really couldn’t swim. At least I’d inherit his gold.  Some wishes do come true.

  • Stone Creek Bridge

    “Interesting name, Jackrabbit Road.” said Jim, as he and Pauline walked toward the covered bridge over Stone Creek. “Is it because of all the twists?”

    “Don’t know, but I bet Gramps Paul does. He knows everything about this town, even about how old Jack Keeley got half-eaten by a demon on the bridge in ’31.

    “Demon? Are you serious? More likely he was killed by a cougar, just like that tourist last week. Moonshiners and their delusions are the only legends around here. That old coot must be senile if he believes in monsters .”

    “You’re an outsider, Jim. Go see the bridge on your own if you want. I’m going home while it’s still light. By the way, Old Paul’s as sharp as you or me. Just consider yourself warned.”

    “Dumb yokels,” muttered Jim as Pauline stomped away. He’d put an end to this nonsense. It was near midnight when he reached the halfway mark in the covered bridge.

    Thump.

    “Pauline, that you?”

    Thump. Thump.

    “Ok, nice joke.”

    Thump. Thump. Thump.

    Jim looked toward the noise. A pair of small eyes glowed in the distance, low to the ground.

    Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

    Was that his heart beating?

    Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

    A small grey rabbit hopped up to him, ears twitching. Jim burst out laughing. The short-lived relief vanished as the rabbit leaped for his throat. No one heard his screams as the demon’s teeth clamped down.